Monday, August 5, 2013

The first thing you notice is the girls who work there. They
are dressed like cheap Hooters waitresses. Even if they were hot though I
wouldn’t care. I’m the least horny drunk person ever. And I don’t trust
bartenders/women who flirt with me. Combined with my subpar looks those are
strikes one, two and three for romance. Oh and that’s a bowling reference, not
baseball. Hooks in the house. Gobble, gobble, gobble!

1.)Dollar burgers. Cheese and fried onions on a
soft seedless bun. Tiny. Only a mouthful. Smaller than a slider. They are
adorable. I could eat one of these burgers every day, forever. An apple a day
keeps the doctor away. A burger a day and you’ll be dead soon. How selfish do
you want to be though? Doctors got to stay in business too. They’ve got mouths
to feed, Jags to lease and treadmills to buy.

2.)Utah! Give me 2…dollars for a shot. Kind of a
girly shot. And it looks watered down too. Full confession. I prefer whiskey
but I chugged a bottle of green apple Mad Dog in college once. So I will drink
anything if I think it’ll get me drunk. I don’t think these shots will though.
Probably because I’m 29 years old. I’m full grown.

3.)Beer here! Stars and suds. Caviar wishes and
brewski dreams. $3 for a non-happy hour beer is good in NYC. If it’s not happy hour why are you there? For
the burgers. You should have invited me I work right there geez.

I don’t hate this place. I don’t hate a lot of places. 123 is cheap and cheap food is a great excuse to grab drinks though. Here's my thought process. Go home and it’s
a $10 minimum for delivery. Plus tax and tip. That’s $14. So if you come here
you can spend $3 on burgers. Then get 4 beers and only spend another dollar.
Tip? Sure I’ll tip. Better get another though. Hell, 5 beers after work on a
Wednesday. This is America right?

Friday, August 2, 2013

This is a post I've used as a writing sample a few times recently. People seem to not hate it but I don't think I can sell it so I'll throw it up on here. Thanks for reading.

Polar Bear

The Coca Cola bear isn't wearing sunglasses. His white fur
is soaked with the blood of your precious children. Their innocence intact
until their intestines are dislodged. Loosed onto the ground like an overfilled
shopping bag, tearing open from the bottom. Its contents coloring the crushed
snow.

Well, good news. We are now free to destroy these animals.
Smile you son of a bitch.

The polar bear is the spirit animal for the energy
conservation movement. A noble cause that looks foolish to discredit. However,
their selection of this monster was a poor choice. A recent NPR story has brought to our attention that these animals are in no danger of dying off.
In fact because of a hunting ban 40 years ago they have experienced a baby
boom. Also as seen on the Colbert Report all bears are godless killing
machines.

On a personal note I've always wanted a bear skin rug. I’d invite somebody, maybe a coworker, over to show it off after a few too many glasses of wine. We take
our shoes and socks off and grab at the fur with our toes. "It's so
real!" she says as a pull her close and look deep into her blue eyes.
Meeting her apprehensive shocked gaze with a fierce look of determination. We
exchange no words as my grip grows tighter on the small of her back. We twist
to the down to the floor. Settling on the
bear rug. Looking past her face. Above. Into the glassy eyes of the once mighty fallen
beast. Imagining myself riding it up a mountain. Grabbing the fur as I thrust. Like a wave traveling hundreds of miles.
Up and down. Until it crashes into the
rocks. Broken. Spent. Dead. As dead as the formerly powerful creature beneath us. “God damn” I say. Still
panting. “This rug really ties the room together.”

Friday, May 31, 2013

There is a backyard garden. Tables and chairs. Hot air heavy with pollen. It's the worst allergy season New York has ever seen. You get your own drinks from inside. No food. There are bags of chips you can buy at the bar. Inside, it's dark wood and friendly faces. New to the neighborhood, it's drawing a crowd. Neighbors meeting for the first time. Classy tap beers offered for $2 off during happy hour. Accompanied by an extensive whiskey list.

The bell chimes as the door opens.
'Hey, what can I get you?'
'Hi. Um. Has a girl been here? She's uh. A woman. I mean. She has hair. Usually wears jeans. Glasses but she might not have been wearing them. Ugh. Damn it.'
'...'
'She has a big forehead' he said apologetically.
'Really. A fivehead. Like that dinosaur with 3 horns'
'A triceratops?'
'Bingo. Yes. A triceratops. Only pretty. And with smaller excrement piles. Hopefully.
'Actually yeah. She's in the back.'
'Really?'
'No.'
'...'
'...girlfriend?'
'No.'
'Just somebody you're meeting at the bar?'
'Nope. Quite the opposite actually. Do you have Sailor Jerry's?'

Friday, May 10, 2013

The 13th Step is what it's called when two people from AA have sex. Two lonely fucked up people connecting. Fine by me. I'm a broken robot who wants to feel love. If it wasn't for the stop drinking part I might even go to some meetings for that.

Or the 13th Step is when an AA old timer has sex with a newcomer. Which has a "don't fuck the interns" less cool vibe to it. AA is an emotionally vulnerable place but unless you are over-brimming with confidence being the fresh meat always comes with an insecure feeling. This is why I stay away from new people at jobs. I'm a recovering creep. I take the battery out of my phone after 5 drinks and have to ask a family member for my Facebook password whenever I want to log in. Damn it. Jean, I just want to change my cover photo!

So they named a bar The 13th Step. Naming a drinking establishment after an AA expression. Clever. Inside jokey. Insensitive. Let's go inside.

It's been awhile so I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I remember the waitress was hot. She had glasses. Glasses are beautiful. That just totally does it for me. I write for a Velma Dinkley slash fiction blog. It's called Oh Jinkies! Check it out sometime. I know. Confessions of a Creepy Mind.

They offer cheap drinks. Weekdays 11-8 the entire bar is half priced. That's the kind of deal that will get you in trouble. You know what I mean. You walk out and are blinded by the sun. "Oh! Oh!" Grabbing at your skin like it's burning. You've been watching Trueblood and you're hammered. It's only 3 in the afternoon. Get on the subway, throw Swedish fish at people. Get off after three stops, puke in a garbage can,, get back on before the doors close. 3:15. Car empties out like somebody just took a dump. "What's wrong with you people?!?! Never seen a person throw up before I guess." You get to your stop. Can't make it home. Piss on the steps of your own subway station. Right in front of two old ladies. "Eyes on your own paper grans. What, never seen one that big before?" It's just now 4 in the afternoon.

Hey, it happens. Things get carried away sometimes.

They also have Colossal Nachos. Served on a big platter and stacked 3 feet high. It's enough to split with 5 or 6 other people and, if you don't mind your food served on an upside down garbage can lid, at $30 it's a good value.